


Deus ex machina

by NalidixicAcid



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Apocalypse, BDSM, Betrayal, Blasphemy, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Chuck Shurley is God, Dom/sub, Domestic Fluff, Drama & Romance, Drunk Sex, Family Drama, Fluff and Angst, God Complex, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Multi, Painplay, Praise Kink, Pseudo-Incest, Psychological Drama, Romance, Rough Sex, Sex, Voice Kink, Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 16:54:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24100138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NalidixicAcid/pseuds/NalidixicAcid
Summary: Omniscience and omnipresence, as any skill if unused, can get rusty even if they're traits of God. Senses drowned in alcohol and self pity, Chuck Shurley doesn't see it coming when Lucifer makes up the plan of kidnapping the Prophet to aide him in his Apocalypse with his valuable writing talent.In a situation that seems hopeless, God decides to play an active role into the play of Life, dissatisfied with the ending Fate came up with, without caring whether he ends up saving the remains of his family, or worsening everything.
Relationships: Becky Rosen/Chuck Shurley, Becky Rosen/Sam Winchester, Gabriel & God & Lucifer & Michael (Supernatural), Gabriel/Chuck Shurley, Gabriel/Lucifer (Supernatural), Lucifer & Chuck Shurley, Lucifer/Chuck Shurley, Lucifer/Michael (Supernatural), Lucifer/Michael/Chuck Shurley, Michael/Chuck Shurley
Comments: 8
Kudos: 29





	1. Sweetest dream or worst nightmare

Thunder echoed in the distance, accompanied by the sound of pouring rain rattling against the house’s windows. It was a common phenomenon in that part of the country, at least it’s been for a few months, maybe even a year. Nourishing for nature, frowned upon by people, deemed to bring gloom and unease every few days, thick clouds intruding the sky when the sun was warmest. 

It was nature cleansing itself, shooing humans in their homes for large parts of the days, giving trees a chance to breathe and heal. Nowadays, more than ever, nature seemed to turn against man in the form of thunder storms, in the form of lightning making whole forests catch fire. Earthquakes. Tsunamis. Fire. Disease. It was the sweet revenge Earth’s been waiting for eons, ever since it started being infested by the pest humanity was. Because it was the end and all that was useless, had to die.

It was Heaven, crying for Humanity’s fate, as pastors preached. They were angel tears, soothing the pain man had to suffer in order to change, for it was the time of change. The atrocities wreaking havoc all around the World foreshadowed a grim future for humankind. It was the time to change, before nothing else could be done, before soul was judged. Because it was the end and the last cry of change, before all that was evil had to die.

It was the shepherd, crying for the loss of the sheep. It was God’s tears in the form of cold, pouring rain at the price humans had to pay, once again, for their deeds. They have brought the Devil among them. They called upon Satan each day in various forms, in curses, in sins, in their hatred they harbored one for the other. It was God crying, because it was the end and none could be saved anymore.

Lightning ripped through the sky, accompanied by thunder seconds after, rumbling much closer than before. Late at night, early in the day, Chuck didn’t know what part of the day was, let along what time. With the curtains always shut closed, to block the outside world, time melted into an endless block of minutes that he could barely feel passing. The air inside was still, if not for the few thick clouds of cigarette smoke rolling around, their dance visible in the few rays of light that intruded the prophet’s living room through the cracks made by curtains, rhythmically proceeding each thunder. Despite the chaos in the outside world that the prophet was trying so hard to detach himself from, the inside of the house was oddly still. Frozen in time. The lights were closed, surroundings illuminated only by lightning and the screen of the prophet’s computer.

Sat at his desk, Chuck was taking the last drag of his last cigarette for the night, deep and burning all the way into his lungs. It was a new vice but none of that really mattered when the literal End of the World was near. Blowing the thick cloud of smoke out of his chest, his eyes were glued to the screen of his computer. He’s sat like that, staring at the unfinished document for at least... three cigarettes, for the notion of time was lost a few days ago. 

Few days ago? Or maybe months? Chuck didn’t know. His whole life seemed to spiral down an endless, dark pit of incertitude and chaos ever since the Winchesters first stepped into his home. Theoretically. Literally, his whole life seemed to spiral down an endless, dark pit of incertitude and chaos ever since he chose to have a direct, active role in history again. 

‘’This is terrible.’’ Chuck murmured to himself, putting out his cigarette in the ashtray by the keyboard. It was already filled with cigarette buts and ash, most of it having fallen on his desk, the man always dirtying the sleeve of his bathrobe in it whenever his hands hovered over the keyboard. And yet, Chuck never knew why exactly the right sleeve of the robes turned grayish in color after a few days. 

He was a clumsy man on his good days, and completely chaotic on his worst ones. What he was going through ever since the Apocalypse was set into motion, though, was a whole new level. There was ash on his desk, papers scattered all over it (first drafts of his work) with red underlined words, some crossed out, messy remarks written at the bottom of pages. A pack of cigarettes was abandoned by his computer’s screen, one cigarette unceremoniously out of the pack, ripped in half from a past, rough manhandling of it in an access of sheer frustration. Crumpled paper was on the ground, pages he wasn’t proud of, pages he’s written while drunk. A few cups of coffee were leaving stains on his work (some empty and some half full, none of them drinkable by now).

Boxes of pizza and other takeout food were scattered all over. When they no longer fitted into the trashcan under his desk, they started being piled by it. And when there was no longer space under his desk, they piled by his desk. They even reached the living room, the glass coffee table looking as though it was made of carton. There was a glass of whiskey that’s sat so much on a shelf in the room, that it couldn’t be taken off anymore, glued by the dried up substance on the hard wood. It was that bad.

‘’Terrible, terrible.’’ He continued, closing the document without even saving it and the whole computer altogether. He didn’t know whether he was talking about his writing or the plain story anymore. Propping his elbows on his desk, Chuck sighed heavily as he took his glasses off, letting them fall on top of the keyboard with a loud clatter. Bringing both hands to his face, he rubbed over his eyes, letting his fingertips linger a second too much there until it started to hurt. 

One hand fell back on the desk and the other dragged over his face. He was in no mood to write that night, and hasn’t really been in over two weeks. A writer’s block, as he called it, despite his imagination flowing. A writer’s block, he named it when, in fact, it was just a man overwhelmed by the mess he brought himself into—because yes, Chuck Shurley was the only one responsible for everything. 

Pushing himself up from his seat, he got to his feet. The whole room started to spin, something that wasn’t that obvious when he was sitting. Soon, he held himself up against the desk’s surface with one hand, trying to put an end to the way the ground felt like it was going to vanish from under his feet. ‘’Fuck.’’ Muttering under his breath, the man waited for a few seconds for his body to get used to the standing position. He really exaggerated with alcohol that night, having gone through a few bottles alone. When his stomach didn’t feel like doing flips in his abdomen anymore, and when his vision slowly adjusted to the darkness of his own room, Chuck pushed himself from the desk. With small steps, he crossed his study and entered the living room, only winching once at the noise of thunder in the distance.

Only now was he aware of the storm outside, branches cracking against his windows, wind howling past the outer walls. He tugged his bathrobe tighter around himself, loosely tying it around his waist. The house was colder, having forgotten to turn the heat up while he was lost in his little trance from earlier. There was a subtle scent in the living room that made him wrinkle his nose. In the vast amount of dirt in there, there was no wonder a whole ecosystem was probably evolved in one of the pizza boxes, even if it oddly felt like... sulfur.

‘’I should clean.’’ He mumbled to himself, words slurring around his tongue as he swallowed thickly. The taste of whiskey and tobacco was still fresh on the back of his tongue, a shameful reminder of just how low he fell. He’s been telling himself he should clean the damned place for months, yet junk kept on piling one over the other with each passing day. He made his way upstairs and to his room with small, heavy steps, knowing his house like the back of his hand; well enough not to miss any stair even in his inebriated state. 

Something crashed in the house, but it wasn’t taken seriously. It wouldn’t be the first time. Maybe it was the storm.

Chuck opened the door to his room (or, more like pressed against it with his body until it opened on its own), not even bothering to take his bathrobe off before dropping in bed. ‘’Jesus.’’ Murmuring under his breath, he crawled under the covers, eyebrows furrowing instinctively as another thunder echoed through his whole house. Needless to say, with the warmth of his own body to heat the air under the covers and make him comfortable, Chuck fell asleep within seconds, reality soon enough mixing with sweet slummer until he wasn’t able to distinguish which was which. 

Hours passed or, maybe, mere minutes until Chuck rolled to his back, one hand absently resting the back of its fingers against his forehead. His eyes were closed, lips slightly parted for light snoring to pass them. The covers have long since slid off himself, twisted to the side, for Chuck’s sleep was often restless, the man writhing from side to side at least a dozen times with his vivid dreams. There was a sudden, warm touch on his left calf that made his eyebrows furrow in his sleep, a light hum passing his mouth as the gentle touch brushed up to his thigh, over the inner side of it.

His legs were bare, asides from the boxers he wore. Endless days spent inside got Chuck in nothing but boxers, a t-shirt and his striped bathrobe as a uniform for a while. Practical and comfortable, leaving him exposed for all the creatures of the night.

Literally.

The robe loosened around his body during sleep, enough for another hand to easily untie it with a swift movement. There was a brief touch on his stomach, before curious fingers slid under his soft t-shirt to touch the hot flesh underneath. Chuck’s muscles clenched at the ticklish sensation, the man not yet stirring awake, but turning his head to the side, the snoring ceasing in that position, though a few incoherent mumbles passed him.

The two beings sat in bed watched one another, wide smirks spreading over their shadowed faces. The night was theirs to roam and, with the blessing of their Father, nothing would harm them. The prophet was all theirs, the burning light of his soul hot under the dirt of their being. They could see his faint halo around his sleepy head and their hands wanted to grab, grab, grab and scratch, to tatter and rip until there was nothing left of it. 

The hand on Chuck’s thigh easily slid under his boxers, reaching his groin, the other one on his stomach tickling up to his chest. It was then, that Chuck finally stirred awake, eyes cracking open, barely. He felt pressure on his groin, making him hum, his hips giving an indistinct push upwards and into the touch. It wouldn’t be the first dream of that kind, for he was a lonely man, despite the many conventions he attended.

Turning his head in bed until it was facing upwards, he blinked his eyes open, his hand absently coming to wipe the corner of his mouth, and Chuck expected to see the ceiling. He definitely didn’t expect to see the messy mop of hair of a beautiful brunette smiling down at him, lust burning dark in her black eyes. Swallowing thickly, his gaze lowered in between his legs where another brunette was grinning widely, already working his boxers off his hips.

In other circumstances, Chuck would play along with the weird, vivid dream. It wasn’t often he dreamed not one, but two beauties in his bed and it definitely wasn’t often that it felt so, so real. The circumstances now, however, made it so the next lightning flashing through the sky got the prophet’s attention enough to lift his gaze from the women willing to devour him whole, to the window. 

Red eyes. His own, blue ones widened at the sight of blood red ones looking right at him. Thunder made, for once, all the hairs on his body stand up at once. Chuck writhed in his spot, sitting up instantly as he scrambled to press himself against the bed’s headboard. He would have fallen to the side, had he not propped himself up on one elbow to hold himself up, thanks to the alcohol still present in his system. 

‘’Can we, Father?’’

‘’He’s awake now.’’

‘’Please, Father, just five minutes.’’

The females’ soft voices reached his ears, their bodies crawling closer on the mattress and, as before, Chuck would give them all his attention, was it not for the tall, broad figure in the corner of his room, by the window. Another lightning lit up the room and Chuck noticed a smirk on the man’s features, thin lips parting enough to show perfect teeth. The prophet felt dread coil in the pit of his stomach, mixing with already present pleasure from before, but he flinched when there was a hand on his jaw, promptly forcing him to look at the girl by his side. 

Her eyes were dark and her lips were full and Chuck felt his knees go weak as she brushed her thumb over his own, parted lips.

‘’He’s scared.’’ The woman cooed, earning a chuckle from the man in the room.

‘’Have your fun. Bur bring him where I told you to, in no more than an hour.’’ The voice commanded before the noise of rustling feathers filled the room, leaving the prophet on the hands of skilled Hell workers.

‘’An hour.’’ One demon purred and her hands were already willing Chuck’s legs to spread, making herself comfortable in between. ‘’That should suffice.’’ Her breath was considerably warm against his groin, and he gasped.

‘’Never had a Prophet.’’ The one staring into Chuck’s eyes said.

It was exactly one hour later that Chuck was sat on a chair in the middle of an abandoned house. His hands were securely tied together with duct tape behind the chair’s backrest. His mouth was covered with the same thing, and Chuck would only feel later the pain of having it removed. Slowly starting to come back to his senses, luckily dressed back into his previous clothes after what felt like a hazy, distant dirty dream, the man blinked a few times at his surroundings. It was too dark, to distinguish fairly well where he was, but one thing was for sure. He wasn’t at home.

Trying to say something, it only came muffled against the duct tape on his mouth. Writhing in his spot, he tried to tug at the binds holding his hands together, but to no avail. A whine built in his throat, cold sweat building on his brow.

‘’Hello there.’’ 

That was the voice that made the breath hitch in his throat. Hairs stood up on the nape of his neck, shooting goosebumps all the way down his spine. He stilled in his moves, wide eyes searching for the source of the voice. There it was, the same pair of blood red eyes slowly cooling into icy blue.

‘’I’ve never seen a ... Prophet, before. For obvious reasons.’’ Lucifer’s silky voice approached him, the man’s frame pacing through the room, circling him like Chuck was prey. ‘’I think the two of us have a lot to talk about.’’ He settled right in front of Chuck, one cold hand pressing on his shoulder, making the man flinch. With his other hand’s cold fingertips, he tipped Chuck’s head back by his chin for their gazes to meet.

Lucifer. 

In the haze of alcohol his mind was drowning in, God recognized him. He let out a breath through his nose that he didn’t know he’s been holding, a noise unworthy of the Creator building in his throat, dying on the duct tape covering his mouth. 

Lucifer.

The tape was ripped from his mouth, taking with it precious hairs of his beard. Chuck gasped shakily.

''Lucifer.'' His voice was hoarse, as though the word scratched its way up Chuck's throat in order to be spluttered. 

That was really Lucifer. After millennia.

''Chuck. Now, listen closely. I can be your best friend, or worst nightmare. Your choice.''


	2. Bargain

Chuck’s eyes were glued on Lucifer’s ones, trying to read him. There was a small frown on his brow, mostly of worry and shock, as his eyes desperately trying to get to what was hiding behind the Devil’s blue ones. ‘’Wh-What?’’ The words barely passed his lips, the prophet no longer even trying to struggle against the binds restricting the movements of his hands. He was mesmerized, by the look of the one he created oh, so long ago.

Chuck felt dread creeping down his spine, and it wasn’t of fear. It was of shock and remorse, at the sight of the one he created to be his one, perfect piece of art. Glassy eyes were locked with Lucifer’s, noticing all the agony his Grace was twisted into; halo broken, wings tattered and burnt on his back. It was a sight that would have, once, made God be proud of the punishment he cast upon his favorite son but at the moment? At the moment it made his stomach turn, but not with the disgust of the scene before him, it turned with disgust for himself.

Millennia after the Fall, Chuck was mature enough to know that the punishment didn’t fit the crime.

The hand on his chin let him go, but the prophet kept on looking up at the Devil, lips slightly parted with disbelief and surprise.

There he was, after millennia of not seeing him, in all his glory. The Morning Star, his light powerful enough to be seen from miles away, blinding God to the point his human eyes’ pupils tightened despite the darkness around them, which was supposed to make them widen. 

Lucifer’s lips were passed by a simple chuckle, curling upwards as he gazed down at the human. ‘’Alright, I’ll give you a breather.’’ The Archangel stepped away, though his face was still turned to Chuck, as though looking away would make the one before him disappear.

And Lucifer wasn’t too far away from the truth. Chuck wanted to go away, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t because the magnetic pull that always had him spiraling towards Lucifer in Heaven was still there, as strong as always. 

‘’You know, when I heard of a Prophet of the Lord, I didn’t expect...’’ He moved his hand suggestively at Chuck, his nose wrinkling into a small display of distaste at the prophet’s appearance. ‘’This.’’ He concluded, the Archangel approaching an armchair that was right behind him. He took a seat on the armrest, his eyes still glowing and visible in the dim light coming from outside.

The house they were in wasn’t abandoned, despite the various white cloths and plastic covers on top of the furniture. It was a holiday home, barely visited a few times a year, if not even rarer. Just perfect for Lucifer’s plans, given that nobody would dare bother them without his notice. So he sat down on the armrest, the plastic wrinkling under his weight. They were in the living room, given by the unused fireplace, the coffee table just to Chuck’s right, covered in dust and empty. The chair he was sat on was pulled from a table of six, a few meters away from them.

‘’You didn’t expect him to be an alcoholic and wear the same t-shirt for days on row? Y-Yeah, because I didn’t see that coming, either.’’ Chuck’s words could finally be heard, though stuttered, his voice husky as though unused for eons. He cleared his throat softly, slouching back against his seat with a small sigh. He was way too drunk for that, definitely. His encounters with demons woke him up to an extent – woke him up enough to feel ashamed of what happned, but not enough to make it stop.

Part of him knew he deserved it. 

Lucifer’s nose wrinkled with distaste, eyes leaving the sight of his nails, which he’s been inspecting for a while, to shoot a look Chuck’s way. 

‘’Obviously I’m... going through a rough period.’’

‘’You and me both.’’ Lucifer commented, his hands resting on his own thighs as he leaned back against the armchair’s backrest, his gaze not once leaving Chuck, who was effortlessly trying to avoid his look, but each time he did that, blye eyes locked with the Devil’s without even wanting to. 

It’s just... been so long.

Millennia spent on Earth, and one might think God learned from the humans he created at least... something. Enough to know that the biggest of empires crashed due to not having enough trustworthy people to watch all shady corners plotting for its falls. God should have learned from that, but... omniscience was a muscle deemed to atrophy if unused. And he hasn’t used his Godly powers in a long, long while, trying to forget of the responsibility of being the Creator by pretending to be human.

And pretending to be human got him to that exact spot in time, with Lucifer a few feet away from him.

Chuck was lucky he was sitting, for his knees would have given up by then.

‘’Was all of this really... necessary?’’ Chuck asked, a bit uncomfortable in his spot. His bathrobe was loosely tied around his waist, deemed to come undone at any moment and reveal him wearing his old, simple, white t-shirt and boxershorts. 

‘’Mmh, stealing you from your home like that? Definitely. Bringing you to an empty, warded home? Of course—As much as I’d be flattered by the visit, meeting my sister right now isn’t in my plans.’’ Lucifer got up from his seat, approaching Chuck with slow, small steps despite his long legs. He knew Raphael was the one to protect the Prohpet; Gabriel was gone and Michael was too busy roaming the Earth for Dean Winchester, planning the big day that him and his brother would finally meet and he’d come marching into Heaven, victorious, waiting fort heir father to come and cherish the defeat of the Adversary. 

‘’Sis—sister?’’ Chuck furrowed his eyebrows but, of course, he knew who Lucifer was talking about.

‘’Raphael.’’ Lucifer brought light into Chuck’s faked confusion, stopping right in front of him. Folding his arms over his chest, body language was enough to tell the prophet that he was having enough of the conversation about his family, even if he barely even mentioned one’s name. ‘’Tying you, now... no. Maybe not that necessary.’’ Lucifer continued, gazing down and all over at the human. His nose wrinkled in distaste, eyebrows furrowed at the sight of him.

He was just... so human.

The holy halo around his head, a sign of the divine, didn’t suit the big, dark circles under Chuck’s eyes. Didn’t fit the scent of alcohol on his breath. Didn’t fit his petty clothing and, most certainly, didn’t fit the way he allowed demons to have their way with him.

Didn’t fit a human. Not when his own was shattered and all around the place.

‘’Now that it’s clear I can barely sit up straight,’’ Chuck started, swallowing the lump in his throat and, despite the fear one should have in his eyes, staring directly at the Devil before him, he gave one effortless tug against the binds to his chair. ‘’-Let alone fight the Devil or anything of the kind. Untie me, please?’’ He tried, winching himself when he called Lucifer the Devil.

He regreted it the moment he said it, and not because of the way Lucifer’s gaze turned to ice within a second. 

‘’My bath robe is coming undone, I’m... uncomfortable.’’ Chuck continued, his voice much smaller. 

Lucifer deemed himself blind to what followed. He walked to the back of Chuck’s chair and, for a second, God really believed he’d be set free. Instead, he had his throat grabbed from behind, his face forced to tip back until they met icy eyes, upside down. God’s breath hitched in his throat because, despite Lucifer being a lesser being than himself, he felt threatened. It was the usual, flight or fight mechanism that his human vessel offered him. 

‘’Did you just call me that?’’ 

Of course Lucifer would take offence in being called The Devil. Such a prideful being, he was, and it looked like no time in Hell could ever cure that. Lucifer truly was one unbreakable being, the way God intended him to be. Proud. Narcissistic. Of course he didn’t want to be called The Devil. 

The Devil was ugly. The devil was, in human conception, a little, red man with tiy horns, a pointed tail, hooves and the pitiest of pitch forks. And Lucifer? Lucifer was tall, with legs long enough to make the Creator himself feel ashamed of his thoughts. Bright. Pure light, like Him, almost. Chuck felt a mixture of emotions churn in the pit of his stomach, from guilt to mildi rritation at being manhandled like that. 

Eons later, Lucifer not only wasn’t cured by his pride, but his vision of humanity was just as crooked.

‘’Did you just call me ‘the Devil’ and then said pretty please? An insult, followed by a request?’’ Lucifer’s long fingers tightened against Chuck’s jaw, fingertips pressing tight into his beard, making the bone feel like it would pop at any second. God’s eyes widened, lips parting to say something, just to press them back together and swallow thickly.

‘’What did you say, Chuck? I didn’t hear.’’ Lucifer leaned in, bending over the chair enough to bring his ear to the prophet’s ear. ‘’Hmm?’’ He teased, blinking a few times, waiting for a few, hot puffs of the human’s breath to wash over his ear before his other hand easily wrapped around the shorter’s neck. ‘’Listen to me, Chuck. My name is Lucifer.’’ He spoke simply, voice silky sweet as though he was explaining to a fledgling. ‘’I’m an angel. And I don’t give one fuck about how uncomfortable you are.’’ His thumb brushed against the prophet’s pulse point, feeling the rapit beats of his heart under the tip of his finger. His fingers tightened around the frail neck he could snap in a second, if Lucifer didn’t need him so much. ‘’But call me names one more time and I will rip that tongue of yours out—after all, you don’t need it, at all, for what I want from you.’’

‘’Was... Was that a threat?’’ Obviously, but whether Chuck was trying to be sassy, playing dumb or was really dumb, it wasn’t too sure to Lucifer. Quickly, he rectified himself. I’m... I mean, I’m sorry? It’s the—the alcohol and. Yeah. Heaven doesn’t make good marketing and-- I don’t give the... the names.’’ Chuck tried to excuse himself, voice raspy and hoarse. His lungs tried to breathe air in, just to find it extremely hard with Lucifer’s strong hand around his neck.

‘’Dumb and slow. Of course it was a threat. Now, say after me, prophet. ‘I will not bite the hand that feeds me’. Metaphorically.’’ He instructed, his words riling Chuck up to a way he felt his face heat up, but with nothing else but irritation.

I will not bite the hand that feeds me?

Coming from Lucifer, out of all beings, it sounded like some shitty joke.

Lucifer bit the whole hand, the arm and the heart that fed him, millennia ago. 

‘’I will not bite the hand that feeds me? Metaphorically?’’ Chuck decided to be an ass, despite his life being supposed to be in danger. Lucifer deemedh imself satisfied, however, as the fingers wrappign around his throat, making his voice raspy, loosened up until he could finally breathe properly. His head was thrown forwards, Chuck’s chin almost hitting his own chest with the force of the shove. 

Shit. 

‘’Good.’’ Lucifer’s voice was followed by the loud, screeching noise of duct tape being ripped from around the prophet’s wrists. Chuck brought his free hands forwards, idly rubbing at his swollen wrists. Damned demons and their strength, as though a normal human would ever be able to escape that. Damned him, for getting piss drunk and not being able to lift one finger in his defense—because Lucifer took him by damned surprise and no way was he showing Himself in that situation.

It was too raw of a moment. Too soon. 

‘’Mind your damned mouth or I’ll give you a good reason, or two, to call me Devil.’’ Lucifer said, rubbing his hands together after throwing away the sticky duct tape. He circled Chuck back to his front again, looking down at him, any hint of playfullness off his face. ‘’Done complaining now that your hands are free?’’

Chuck immediately tightened the bathroom robe around his waist, barely managing a half hearted glare up at the Archangel. ‘’Hardly.’’ He answered promptly, looking around himself, blinking his eyes a few times. ‘’Whose house even is this?’’  
‘’Does it matter?’’ Lucifer cocked one eyebrow, starting pacing back and forth like an angered lion. He inspected his nails, rubbing them against the front of his t-shirt before looking around him, as though trying to remember, too, where they were. 

‘’What do you want from me?’’

Lucifer stopped, tiny smirk tugging the corners of his lips upwards. ‘’Little birdie told me that you sit down and write. And whatever you write, they’re truths. So, you are going to be my little, secret weapon.’’ He pressed his hands to his hips, turning to look at the large window of the living room, casting soft, dusty light over the insides of the room. ‘’Prophet of the Lord, in my hands... I’ll be unstoppable.’’ He told to himself, unlike any other version of himself from another Universe that Chuck has ever created.

His creations really lived and desvolted to surprise him each time, to the point they put him in danger. Always put him in danger.

‘’Um... You got the worst, possible person for that job.’’ Chuck started, pressing one hand against the backrest of the chair, trying to push himself up. The room suddenly got much more dynamic and twirling than it was while he was seated. The prophet fell back into his seat with a loud thud that got Lucifer’s attention, making the angel turn to look overh is shoulder at the man. ‘’I’m even... y’know, worse at writing under pressure. I can’t work with a curfew—writing is hard. Creativity is... a matter of time and...’’ Chuck tried to buy himself time, brushing one hand over his face, trying to think. Really squeezing his mind to think. He could call for Raphael, but he felt the walls of the home warded. He could create the illusion of Raphael coming, but that would easily be debunked by Lucifer who’s paid just so much attention to all his classes in Heaven. 

He was trapped. And Lucifer intended to use him as a writing monkey.

‘’I’d need a lot of supplies—my laptop. And I don’t really like being away from home.’’

‘’—Well, pretend.’’ Lucifer snapped, finding those many, petty requests as being a form of disrespect. The human before him was pathetic, really. Little and pathetic. Whiny and pathetic. ‘’Pretend you’re home. Pretend you have all you need.’’ Lucifer snapped his fingers and, within the blink of an eye, there was a laptop appearing on the coffee tabel by Chuck’s side. ‘’But write. Because this is going to end very, very bad for you if you don’t comply.’’ Lucifer warned, turning to fully face Chuck. He approached him again, bending over to be at the same eye level with the prophet, making the man lean back until his back hit the chair’s backrest and he didn’t have where to go anymore. 

‘’I told you. I can be your nicest dream, or worst nightmare, Chuck. Write me what I need, and I will give you everything you want. Even if, by the looks of it, a lifetime of liquor is your thing.’’ Lucifer leaned back, looking down at him with distaste again. 

''Jokes on you, I highly doubt anybody in Heaven cares for my well being.'' Chuck commented, pushing himself up on his feet once more. He felt just a bit weak (which made him wonder just how much did he drink before sleep, that it wasn't out of his system by then) and the room spun whenever he moved his head too quickly. 

''In another life, I'd be tempted to accept.'' He chuckled, pointing one finger at Lucifer, his other hand holding him up and steady, propped on the backrest of the chair. ''But the success of my books made it sure that if I am to sell my soul for something... it's not alcohol.'' He commented, looking around himself just to realize that it was his laptop, indeed, on the coffee table by him. Like new. The dim light from the laptop's opened screen made Chuck's eyes narrow with a groan. His feet took him, luckily, to the couch of the room, plopping unceremoniously down on it. One leg hanging off the couch, one arm under his head and the other one resting on his chest, Chuck's eyes blinked closed. 

So, Chuck would be willing to sell his soul over. "What... you'd want fame? Success? Fortunes? Predictable." 

There was no way he was in the mood for anything like that at the moment. Or writing. No human would want to play with fire in such a situation, and Lucifer was a time ticking bomb, really, but Chuck couldn't bring himself to care, not at that moment, not when he felt plain nauseous. It wasn't just the alcohol making his dinner rise to his throat, no, but hearing his son's voice after millennia contributed quite a lot. ''I'll... can I start tomorrow? I don't feel well.'' He complained, knowing that being pathetic like that would never win Lucifer over in any way. However, he needed to keep the appearance up. And he needed to keep that alcohol in his system long enough for him to deal with the situation, for God wasn't nearly close to ready to deal with Lucifer, either as Chuck or his true self. ''Remind me not to drink so much before going to sleep.'' He murmured Nick's words he told Lucifer just a few months ago. 

Rolling his eyes a bit, Lucifer wound up trailing slowly after the other and pausing behind the couch. His hands came to rest on the back-rest cushions and he leaned forward slightly, peering down at the pitiful man with a narrowed gaze. "What is with you humans? Drinking yourselves sick." Looking disinterested in whether or not Chuck felt well enough to write anything, he paused ever so briefly to consider. It was stretching his patience thin to wait when he wanted the man to start writing immediately... But giving him a day could hardly matter in the long run, could it? It wasn't like there wasn't still plenty to do in the meantime.

"You do realize you sound incredibly pathetic right now?" Lucifer's brow shot up, as unimpressed as the rest of his expression. "... one day. Then you start writing. I don't have the time to linger around you constantly myself- I have too much to do. But... I am leaving eyes and ears on you. If you want or need something- reasonable, that is- then one of my demons will fetch it for you." After all.. humans required things like food and drink to function, and while Lucifer held no love for any of them in particular, this one was temporarily useful to him. There was strict orders of course, not a finger was to be laid on the prophet and he didn't doubt those orders would be followed. The demons did, after all, practically worship the ground Lucifer walked.

God groaned. Not even he understood why he came out of the comfortable confines of his human life to deal with all that mess, and the reason was simple. Lucifer. Something deep inside the Creator didn't like the way he knew things would turn out. And he cursed himself, day and night, tormented himself in unbelievable days in order to come up with a better end to everything.

But he was having the worst writer's block in history.

''Are you sure you want to know? You don't want to know.'' Chuck said, regarding the reason for his drinking problem. He hardly believed Lucifer would care even if he knew he was God, let alone a human. Opening his eyes to look up and see his son, God felt like running away. He was a coward, especially when it came to his son, thing he'd never admit to himself, let alone out loud. Blinking up at him, he swallowed the taste on the back of his tongue, still feeling all that whiskey. ''You're the father of temptation -- but I'm no Lilith. Everything you could give me, I have. Or had. Or don't want. Or doesn't matter, because the world is ending.'' Chuck stated simply, rising one hand up to gesticulate absently. ''You'll have to be more creative than that.'' Chuck didn't consider his soul to be worth a lot of things, cue to him not wanting to name anything he'd sell it for. He only got that low when he was that drunk, and it wasn't even his worst state.

Lucifer arched a brow when Chuck made it clear he wasn't doing much talking, drawing a rather absurd between himself and Lilith. Of course leaving Lucifer to mutter something under his breath about Chuck being far too pathetic to be Lilith incarnate in any sense of the word. While Lucifer had no love for humanity in the least, and while Lilith had been a way to lash out at his father just as much as to prove his point about humans, she was still his favorite. The first of hell itself. The irony of her sacrificial death being the final Seal had not been lost on Lucifer, who had no shortage of reasons to be bitter with God. It was merely a sprinkle in the icing on that shit cake. 

Rolling onto his side on the couch, trying to squeeze a pillow in between his head and the armrest, he was very uncomfortable, but didn't mind it. He'd be able to sleep even on the floor. ''I'll worry about dignity tomorrow.'' He commented, doubting he'd wake up any earlier the next day to be productive. ''If I were you, I'd worry about myself.'' It wasn't a threat, not with Chuck's small, mumbled voice. ''Your violent delights have violent ends.'' Just like God, being ambiguous about his reasons, about his advice, about everything. Those were too grande words for Chuck to usually use, to the point one might think it was God speaking through his lips at the moment. 

God knew Lucifer would end up back into the cage, if not worse, dead, if he didn't stop with the path he's already taken. And he'd talk more about it, had he not already been snoring.

Exhaling a slow, long breath in an effort to control himself, the corner of his eye twitched once more when Chuck essentially told him to worry about himself. And whether or not the words had been a threat, they certainly came out as one. A strange threat no less. Yet... the human was already fast asleep and the retort died on his lips in that moment. He wasn't unaware of what was expected to happen. Did he want to lose? No... not exactly. Who would? Especially for someone as prideful as Lucifer had become. But was he aware it was a very real possibility? Yes. It wasn't as if he spoke of the matter with anyone-- certainly none of his demons. But his inner dialogue was... mixed on what was to come. On the one hand, he wasn't actively seeking to die. Which was... clearly what his Father had intended from the beginning. He would put effort into winning the war he was waging, and he would take as much of humanity with him as possible- preferably the whole damned species. But he also, far in the back recesses of his over-active mind, had conceded that if he went to face Michael and could not convince his brother not to fight, his chances were slimmer than he would have liked. Lucifer wasn't foolish... each of them had their own talents, and God had not chosen Michael at random, when he first commanded him against Lucifer.

And as morbid as it sounded, there was one tiny bright side to it finally being over. Peace, of a sort. Not the raging torture and loneliness of the Cage again. 

Given that the man was already lost to sleep, Lucifer backed away enough to look down at him for a few more moments, eyes narrowed, nose wrinkled. There was a mild scowl on his face.

Did the damned prophet, cornered in a situation like that, just fall asleep—no, rectifying, effectively passed out?

He’s seen suicidal people.

He’s seen dumb ones.

Chuck, however, didn’t feel like any of them, though obviously acted the part. He sighed, trying to suck as many patience in himself as he could before unfolding his wings to leave. He’d come later, to bargain.

Chuck woke up late in the afternoon, when the sun's rays hit just perfectly through the half pulled curtains in order to land on his face. The man groaned, no amount of decorative pillows pressed against his face able to bring sleep's sweet slumber back, especially not with the drumming headache that started to pound against his temples. More decorative pillows were kicked off the couch in his attempt to get up, doing so only with the support of the tall, nearby lamp. His human body did a lot of overreacting whenever he pushed his limits, whenever he didn't tend to it. Luckily, human remedies worked like Heaven on his human body. 

Half a bottle of Advil later and a generous cup of coffee later, Chuck was half functional and ready to digest what just happened the other day. Problem was, he was about to have an indigestion from so much information he didn't want to deal with. God could play any role in anybody's lives, but he feared he won't be able to do so before his son. While God knew Lucifer like the back of his palm (or, well, he thought he knew Lucifer, given his actions took him by surprise too many times in his existence), so was the other way around. Even with his Being hidden to the naked eye behind a human soul, he feared Lucifer would see straight through his disguise.

''So...'' He called once he heard the all too familiar rustle of wings fill the living room, looking over at the opened laptop on his desk, the word filled up with words describing all the events up to the very moment they were in. ''I thought about your proposal.'' Chuck started, staring idly at the screen of his laptop. ''I can write for you-- but on one condition.'' Any human would realize that, by that point, fighting back had no use, especially not against an Archangel. Art was art, and to a human, the world was already ending. He might as well die having his masterpiece read by the Devil himself. ''My chapters about the Archangels and, well, Heaven in general were pretty short and rushed. I suppose God never wanted me to know much about that period.'' Well, He had been absent a lot during that period and he never checked, afraid he'd come back if he did so, as filled with remorse as he was. ''So, yeah. I'll write for you. If you tell me about those periods. Story for a story. We'll be even.''

Looking over his shoulder, Chuck just sold his soul to the Devil for the sake of knowledge. Not any knowledge, either, the knowledge of the side everybody blamed in history.

**Author's Note:**

> The beginning of a series I've had in mind for a while, thanks to a roleplay I've had in the past.  
> I can only hope my writing is better than Chuck Shurley's and I don't share his writing block.  
> Enjoy!


End file.
